Words that I Made Up
by Ivanknovv
Summary: After that mission, Jaime couldn't stay away from him. That Broad chest, those blue eyes, or hat soft voice. But in doing so, he lost sight of himself, and purged into something far more disgusting than one could ever think of. Drug use and sex is referenced. Superbeetle. Oneshot


He was warm.

A long arm had cast itself over Jaime Reyes' naked form, bringing it close to whoever, or whatever it was. The sun poured through the small break in theBlackout curtains, sending a stretch of sunlight to illuminate the dim room. Jaime opened his eyes, as he felt the small tufts of air hit the rear of his neck, at a metronomic pace, and the contraction, and expansion of a defined chest against his back helped him pull himself into the world of the awake. He looked down at the arm that had pulled him so close. He gave it and empty smile and made a small attempt to move it, but a small twinge of pain from his entrance forbade.

"Dammit Conner," he groaned inwardly, and cursed Conner of his inability to pull out before falling asleep. Getting out of this bind had Provence to be of little ease, but with some patience, and care he had managed to free himself of the clutches of the clone. The Hispanic boy made an attempt to stand, which was a bad idea, because one does not simply stand after a night with Conner Kent. He toppled to the floor, sharp pain still apparent in his rear, and grumbled some rather rude things under his breath, before beginning to search for his clothes. His underwear, those were long gone. He had brief flashbacks of Conner literally ripping his bright yellow boxers from his body, before going to work with his mouth.

Jaime ran a hand through his dark hair as he pulled on his beaten up pair of jeans. Socks and shoes followed. Then, there was the predicament of his shirt. Conner was laying on it. Full body, chest down so he could only see the bare edges. He wasn't getting that motherfucker back. Seeing as he had no other choice, Jaime found Conner's black shirt, the one adorned with the Superman sigil, and pulled it over his head.

He crept from the room as quietly as he could, and in stealing one last glance at the clone, tiptoed into the hallway. Almost immediately he bumped into Garfield, who shot him rather disappointed look. Jaime cut his eyes. "You can't judge me dude. Don't think I don't know about you and laguna de niño." He gestured towards La'Gaan's bunk, and the shapeshifter instantly cut his eyes. Garfield just pushed him aside, and kept going.

He pulled his jacket over superboys overdosed shirt, and sighed.

It was going to be a long fly home.

/

Jaime scowled as his reflection in his body length mirror. It wasn't that he was disgusted with his current reflection; no his self esteem was too high for that. He was just disappointed in himself. Yet again, he had allowed himself to be used, and had yet to do anything about it. Caramel skins were Laurent with bruises and hickeys. A bite mark that had broken skin was apparent along his collarbone. But his inner thighs, where Conner's mouth had ravaged him the night before had succeeded the most damage. Black and blue, and red all over would be the correct term to brand it.

Because it hurt like hell.

Damn clones and their damnable biting fetishes.

Again, he had groaned at himself. This wasn't the first time the Mexican boy had entered his house via convenient window entrance, bruises laden along his bronzed skin like he had been jumped by the stereotypical schoolyard bully. This had to be the fifth, maybe the sixth. Hell. All he knew was that each time he snuck home, he was missing at least one article of clothing, and a ass filled with enough cum to start a kryptonian sperm bank. And the thing that made it worse, the metaphorical icing on the cake, was that he would do it again. He would gladly do it all again! And wake up the next morning and go through the same routine all over again.

/

It would only get worse.

Jamie would feel as if Conner couldn't look him in the eye. He felt as if, to Conner, he was just another sperm rag that was used and tossed aside at the kryptonian's ease. Repeatedly, he told himself that he was okay with it. He was perfectly in contempt with saying hello to him every morning, and not getting the slightest response. He wasn't in vie for his love, was he? He was perfectly fine with being the first one to aid Conner, and the last one to be acknowledged, if he even was. He was copacetic with waking up each and every night, in tears, with an aching heart craving salvation that would never find it.

It was all cool with him.

/

Jamie hand grown unstable to say the least.

Bags under his eyes, and dried tear streaks were common sights in his every day morning reflection. However, that was just the becoming of his recent turmoil.

Pills.

Blues, greens, and pinks became his quantum of solace. He found safety and momentary happiness in the visions that they bequeathed to him.

Emphasis on momentary happiness.

In so, he grew a common addiction, a pill popper to be exact.

It had gotten so sad; it was to the point where the scarab had been tuned out completely. If he kept this up, he could no longer be the blue beetle.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

/

And as the laws of the universe state, every falling hero must hit the ground at some point. He had hoped for a stairway to heaven, but instead he earned himself a ticket on the highway to hell.

Amiss his delusions, the caves halls were long and winding, but Jamie proposed that finding a kryptonian clone wouldn't be too hard. He found him in the kitchen all crooned up in the corner by the oven. It was time. Time to tell him how he felt, how he had harbored years and years of abuse and unrequited hearts that floated in the stream of life itself. The tears would stop, the pills would go away, and his world would piece itself back together.

"Conner…" his words were shut off by a fierce glare, he saw those eyes, glowing pools of blue rage that were offended by his very presence. He was scared, even in his semi-intoxication; he could seed his own fear.

"Conner I w-want to tell you…"

"WHAT?" Conner barked at him. His unnecessary hostility proved to be more than intimidating.

"Conner, I love you. I love what you did to me," Jaime's slender hand reaches for the hem if his tee shirt, pulling it up, exposing bruises, bites and nail marks the man had given to him.

Conner simply pushed him away, and stormed off to the nearest zeta tube.

/

It was dark now.

Pitch black would be a plausible way to describe Jaime Reyes at the moment, as he pushed another pink pill past his chapped lips. Maybe this would make it all better, if he went with a false sense of happiness rolling around in his head. His hands moved to his neck, which itches terribly against the rusty chain that had lain in the corner of the garage all those years. Maybe, just maybe he could find solace along the length of the chain.

Just maybe.

"Goodbye, I love you."

The stool beneath his feet rocked left and right, before it tipped completely. His neck was strained, and he was unable to scream or shout for help. Jaime's hands seemed unresponsive as he swung back and forth. The darkness was apparent now; it came in small spots and began to corrode his vision.

Alas, his foot stopped its twitching, and he was gone. His remnants just a hanging corpse in a bleak room.

Downstairs, the phone rang repeatedly until the Answering machine came to its aid.

"Jaime? It's Conner. Listen, I'm sorry about running earlier, but I need you to pick up. There are a few things I need to tell you."


End file.
